4 Answers

  1. Riot, alcohol, Russian rock! A revolt against my grandparents who raised me, and everything they represented-normality, conformity, adaptability, everyday lies. Alcohol was all I could get. For more than a year between high school and the army, I've never had a drink, and I won't again. Two liters of beer-this was the minimum, if I did nothing at all, and did not see anyone. A couple of times a week, I consistently reveled in an indecent state. Alcohol was the link, our blood and bread. Russian rock is like a heart that pumps blood-alcohol through the veins-also constantly. I went to school with headphones on, I slept with headphones on, our radio was always playing in all our kitchens, we played and sang the same songs in the crosswalks and trains, on the flats and in the entrances we hacked.

    All in all, it was quite fun.

  2. It all started with a conversation with a kind of marginal company at 14. Eternal confrontation with your parents, because you are “already an adult and can do what you want, and your mother does not understand this.” Alcohol until you're blue in the face, weekly rock concerts, crazy antics and problems with your studies, as a result. After growing up a little and deciding that I was above it, I moved into radical leftist views. It always seemed that people around you either did not understand anything,or your enemies. Incessant participation in various actions(not always sanctioned, of course), organization of various left-wing movements, endless attempts to change the world and people, time spent in the department for all this. Crazy skirmishes with the right and hanging out at concerts with like-minded people.

    The end of everything was put by my deduction from the budget to UrFU, where I barely entered. I got a job and, after a while, looked at everything from the outside. I realized that it was time to stop with this youthful maximalism and start thinking with my head.

    Entered the correspondence department, budget. I work, study, and increasingly listen to my mother's advice)

  3. I may not understand, but the crisis in youth he seems to be inside, and what to write about its consequences as if the question was “how did you spend 2007th?”, well, let it be across #Aboussafy (sponsor of issue pop-owner of the men's injuries in terms of dological Jungian psychology “in the shadow of Saturn”which I read almost on a dare)

    My youth was stretched out, and in general, in my circle, these frames can be stretched from 6 to 35 years. The loss of my father and the figure of an adult man responsible for something for a long time disfigured my understanding that people in principle grow up, this boiled down from reading the left (literally and not) literature to contempt for the rich, as for creatures from the past.They live!. Later, this gave up after working with foreigners who showed that you can earn money and not be an ass, from this I had a crisis of non-recognition of my own intelligence, because the social circle formed from childhood by those who study with me at school and music, play football or live in the same yard quickly began to smell loneliness, from which I went into gambling addiction and other ways to throw the real world away. But it was gambling addiction that was the reason why I was able to use a soldering iron and read code, for which I was surrounded by all my classmates in computer science, and convinced me that I was smart and think interestingly, which resulted in a complete loss of isolation, which is still accompanied by the fact that I can now say too much and post my “literary” text without thinking about criticism, well,

    The second block of crises is intersex. The first time I fell in love �in 4 years, and helped around the house to give me money to buy her coloring, and she refused me to take it, because she already had similar (Yes, girls can't refuse�politely, but know how to make you feel a hybrid of a maniac with a freak, is no stranger to this, if you take them seriously). The worst thing is that I studied with her until the 9th grade, so I often felt in the company of “my ex-wife”, although there is no “ex-fiancee” (from the age of 11, my mother's narrative was applied to me about how she needs grandchildren, but this is because of the trauma of her soul). Then there was the parade of planets that the under protection felt around me, they imposed on me the image of a protector, and because of this, I never once got involved in the fact that I was attracted to “girls in danger”, I projected my mother's hyperprotection on them as the only form of love I knew at that time. Then there were half a dozen girls who loved me in parts (some in body parts, some in character) – a very good catalyst for realizing that my own Self is much more important than the caresses of warm crumbs, which will never be enough. Well, the final chord is Her, a girl who quite fits into all the ideas about what is good and beautiful – a Jew with freckles, nice long hair, textured eyes, a flexible character on which fairy tales are layered, new impressions and ready for all sorts of strange moves, everything is fine with her, except that she will never fall in love, because she had her own One before you, who showed how to respond to selfless love (in any way), self-awareness and similar things because of which then neuroses grow, which which when it leaves you stays with you forever and you have to stop chasing it, instead of driving into the wall). After it, it was very difficult, it seemed that everything that is achievable does not concern you, and everything that worries you is not achievable. It was a big wake-up call on the topic of loving others for free and not screwing anything up on them, because those I love can be beautiful without a narrative that they will never fit into, and worse, they have their own narrative for themselves, which is either in tune with yours, or will cause quarrels and it's better not to bring them to them. In times of cheap contraception, love can not get stuck in unsolvable everyday issues, but absorb itself quickly and painlessly (I naively believe in this). After it, it's easy to understand what you don't like exactly (except for this attitude). Having forgiven and understood her, I began to treat girls as something more than what they feed their Egos.

    How to deal with crises in addition to the tips that are given in the aforementioned book. I was very lucky to find myself a “sister in karma”, a girl that I respect, to whom I am not ashamed to say that with another man I would shut up, whom I love in different ways, but most importantly with her I can loosen my tongue and hear that girls can have their own problems that you can soften each other by opening your mouth. This helps to understand that there are also limits to the power of the “mother”, but this no longer fits in with this simplification, but with the “oppressed-silent”one the one Lacan talked about at his best stand-up show, the one who has to start talking to get rid of the oppression. Of the tips given in the book, the most useful result was communication with the” elder ” reform rabbi, who made me feel that some of my problems were tantrums of a small child, and he was sorry for me and offered to finish them. But an attempt to treat my supervisor with the same respect led to the fact that I opened up to an impudent, lying Soviet muzzle: if you are looking for such a person, then in addition to his “ethical” qualities, think about “aesthetic” ones – what he is wearing, what habits he has, and so on, and if you can't imagine yourself in his place, then it's better to keep your ears open.

    I also had a crisis of changing the scientific topic, double-checking whether the humanities specialty is closer to me than the one written in the diploma, injuries that blocked the way to sports, life abroad,double-checking the attitude of friends to themselves and themselves to friends, and in general, crises and neuroses can only be ignored by those who get along with them so schizopathically that

    I think that it is better to leave such a text without changes in terms of readability, so that later you can reread it yourself and see reflections of yourself, and not neutrality.

  4. Tux-tux, get ready for a long ride.�

    This was the period of my 15-17 years. Just high school. To understand what I was struggling with, I will say-the whole family (consisting of mom, dad and grandmother) I have teachers. These are people who used to keep everything under control, looked at me through the prism of academic performance at the lyceum and the assessment of others. They controlled my hobbies, my time of coming and going home, and so on. There was no reason for such terror – I myself am a balanced and responsible person.�

    At the age of 15, I had my first young man, a new big company – I realized that I could be interesting to a wide range of people. We didn't engage in debauchery or various teenage rampages, but we stayed up late anyway. I didn't want to go home at 10pm when everyone was having fun. Then there was a ground for conflict-to prove that you yourself can make a decision when to come home. These were not weekday gatherings , just weekends.�

    Gradually, I “chewed out” the time until 2-3 o'clock in the morning, but before that there were scandals, slaps in the face, running away at night to discos, my grandmother's screams “you'll drive me to the grave”, my mother's reproaches “what will my friends say”. It really pissed me off – what the hell difference does it make what other people say? I did a great job, didn't smoke, didn't drink.�

    The tower was blown off after comparing with my best friend and the phrase ” Here I am in everything better, and you are a disgrace to us. She won the Olympics, and you only know your guts.” And what kind of person would stand such an assessment of themselves as clueless from the people closest to you?�

    NOTE: At that time, I was writing a research paper for the Ukrainian Academy of Sciences on philosophy.�

    The sound arguments for my successful time management are over. I just started doing what I thought was right. All the quarrels in the family were washed down with alcohol. When my mother noticed that I began to come with alcohol, the most epic tantrums began, right up to the broken door to my room. Trust in each other has completely disappeared. I started buying/getting antidepressants and sedatives. Immediately after school, I threw them at them and went home to survive the evening of the thrashing.
    At the weekend-a portion of screams that “you're hanging around again somewhere, you'll probably get knocked up soon” and so on. �

    This lasted about 1.5 years. At this time, relations soured, which are still quite peculiar (well, from my side for sure).
    I graduated from high school with the best score on the stream and a shattered nervous system. To get away from such an atmosphere, I went to study in Kiev.�

    There were also tensions at the stage when I announced that I intended to leave for the other side of the country. My family didn't believe that I was independent enough and probably smart enough. But I did leave. This was the end of the stage of rebellion – there was no one to rebel with, and I received the long-awaited freedom of decision-making.

    There are still indicators of the attitude towards me as that 16-year-old girl. They say “parents know what's best” or “do it for us”. But there are no more levers of influence on me. Although my mother seems to have learned to take me seriously (it's time to be in my 22).�

    Finally, I want to say that if I had to go through all this again, I wouldn't change anything. I would have fought the same way with my family, defending my opinion. This period gave me the confidence that I can do something important for me. Yes, heads flew off my shoulders, but this was the price of my personal formation.

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